


All They Need

by debascas



Series: The Wonderful Misadventures of Junkrat and Roadhog [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Canon Disabled Character, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dinner dates, Domestic, Drinking, Drivers Test, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, New Zealand, Old Married Couple, Omnic Racism, Pet Pigs, Piggy Family, Reminiscing, Retirement, Slice of Life, Symbiotic Relationship, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, century old music tastes, i just want these two idiots to be happy okay, let them be sappy, let them rest, let them say i love you, they're old and content and in love, well not married but they might as well be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-06 09:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8745097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debascas/pseuds/debascas
Summary: At the edge of New Zealand stood a little house by the sea.





	1. Muse

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about a retired pair of Junkers settling down somewhere nice and tropical. Then this happened. I'm in too deep. I hope you enjoy. 
> 
>  
> 
> Yeah we all have had those dreams  
> O-o-of the sun, and the sea, and an island  
> Where you switch off  
> It's a good life  
> It's a good life  
> For me.
> 
> -It's a Good Life (Kongos, 2012)

It was one of those days.

The rare kind. The kind where they woke up before the rest of the world did. Before the sun peered over the deep blue horizon and the street lights had long since gone out.

A head start to a new morning.

They drove down to the beach in their old pick up truck. Decades old. Ancient. A 2007 model, Mako had pointed out years ago. Jamison let out a low whistle at that, offered to fix up the hunk of junk. Elbowed the pig in the gut and giggled, low and manic.

_ "2007, eh?" _

_ "Hmhm." _

_ "Same age as you then." _

A snort had shaken his whole belly.  _ "Idiot." _

Jabs and banter were just part of their routine. Mako's permanent scowl lightened up at the memory, and a small smile tugged at the corners of scarred lips, hidden behind a medical mask. They reserved that whole week for the scrapyard, dedicated it to the relic, and brought out the dust-coated toolboxes. Spent the entire time wearing welding masks, smelling like gasoline and rubber and metal. Emerged from the garage victorious, with grime coating their skin, spark burns on their finger tips, and a rusty but restored truck at their disposal.

A thin hand had clasped his broad shoulder, spreading grease across his white T-shirt. An addition to the collection of miscellaneous stains it gathered over the years. He grumbled, but didn't mind too much.

_ "Ain't she a beaut?" _

_ "Hmhm."  _ Mako reached out and ran a hand over the steering wheel. The leather was cracked and missing in some places. When he looked into the passenger seat, the rat was already making himself comfortable. His leg and peg were propped up on the dashboard. Jamison shot him a wink and tossed the keys over.

Faint static pulled Mako back to the present.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Came the raspy question.

Mako liked the roughness of Jamison's voice in the morning. Scratchy and gravelly. Like sandpaper. That groggy, sleep-laced "G'day," was always music to his comically small ears. Made the notion of dawn a little more tolerable.

Mako tightened his grip on the wheel, large hands engulfing the cracked leather entirely. "Not enough."

"Fine. A nickel for each. Would that make you talk?"

He snorted and shook his head.

"You drive a hard bargain. Okay. A dollar each."

"No," he said. The reply came out more curt than he meant to. "Don't worry about it."

"Suit yourself," Jamison shrugged, scoffing, "Cryptic old grouch." He resumed to staring out the window. Mako focused on driving.

The streets were barren and deserted. A real change of pace from the usual bustle of the morning scene. Mako supposed that the emptiness was good for them, cutting their shared road rage down to a zero.

A mechanical hand in his peripheral continued to fiddle with the radio. Turned the knobs this way and that, only to result in crackling and the occasional choppy infomercial. Jamison muttered under his breath. Something about how all the good shit came on only after 7 AM. His efforts to find a working station were fruitless, so he settled for silence. Maybe it was the car model at fault. Couldn't get a proper signal, Mako assumed. Too old. Too obsolete.

At least the view was nice. Gentle, rolling waves illuminated by the blue and silver haze of twilight. There was the clatter of bone against glass. Jamison rested his elbow on the window frame, cupping his face with his hand. The mechanical one reached out and found Mako's bicep, rubbing small circles through the flowery fabric of his shirt. An impulsive, soothing gesture.

Mako took a deep breath, relaxing under the other man's touch. Taking a hand off the wheel, he placed it over the metal. He felt the fingers twitch, skittering across his arm like a trapped orange crab, before finally settling down. The cold hand curled to cup the shape of Mako's, nestling into the grooves of his palm.

A few moments passed. Jamison's hand began to warm up under the big lug's grasp. Felt almost like flesh. Neither of them moved.

The truck drove into the lot and Mako parked in the first available space. As expected, no locals or tourists to be found. Empty and seemingly deserted.

Good.

The slamming of car doors echoed across asphalt and soggy wood. It rained the night before. A thunderstorm that shook their whole bungalow after each jolt of lightning hit the earth. Jamison had curled up into a ball and firmly pressed against his side, muttering and cursing. The damn flashing was giving him a headache, he explained.

They grabbed everything they needed from the car bed and made the short trek to shore. Mako opted to take the rickety old stairs, slippery and much too small for his big feet. Each step creaked under his weight and the cooler's, but it managed to hold, it always did, until he finally set foot on white sand.

Jamison's methods of getting down were less mundane. He climbed over the boardwalk banister, umbrella in one hand, picnic basket in the other, and slid down the mound of sand like the surfers he sometimes gushed about.

_ "Wish I could give it a whirl," _ Jamison confessed the other day, _ "But my balance is pretty shite." _

_ "Try it." _

_ "My peg would slip off the board. Guaranteed." _

He looked up from his cross-word puzzle. Stared across the table into half-lidded, orange eyes,  _ "Now you're just making excuses." _

A bony elbow to his gut jolted Mako from his thoughts.

"Okay Hoggie. Two dollars each."

Mako grumbled and scratched the now sore spot. "What?"

"For each thought," he clarified, "That's as high as I'll go."

Mako snorted. "No its not."

Jamison scoffed again, "Gonna tell me what's on your mind or not?"

"Or."

"Secretive drongo. C'mon. There's money on the line here."

"Later. Set up first." He was way too tired to deal with his partners persistence.

Jamison huffed out a dramatic sigh. "Fine," he said, drawing out the 'e'. He patted Mako's gut, rubbing the spot he elbowed earlier in a wordless apology.

The stroll to their regular set-up place was quiet, save for the splashing of waves and sand crunching beneath them. Mako inhaled deeply, the scent of sea salt filling his rattling lungs. It was always easier to breath out here.

They sat at the end of the dock; Mako cross-legged; Jamison with the peg pulled up to his chest and his leg hanging off the edge. Waves splashed against his foot, threatening to pull his only flip-flop into the waters below. It would've been the third one he lost that month. He plucked the slipper off and set it aside for safekeeping before dangling his leg over the dock again. "Oi."

"Hm."

"Be a dear and pass the beer, Hoggywog." He snickered at the rhyme. Mako rolled his eyes and moved the cooler from his side to the space between them. With an easy twist of the torso, Jamison rummaged through the ice box and fished out two cans of ale.

Mako shook his head when a thin hand held out the drink to him, "It's too early."

Jamison raised an eyebrow, testing that statement. He could tell that the big lug was serious though. He shrugged and popped the tab open, "More for me then."

The crashing of waves against the dock's wooden beams plus Jamison's own obnoxious guzzling were the only sounds for awhile.

Mako closed his eyes, relishing in the relevant calm of it all. Darkness washed over him, as vast as the ocean, and the lack of sight always seemed to heighten up his other senses. Made the smell of salt water and gasoline stronger, made the absent taste of cheap ale drop hints on his tongue, made the tapping of the other man's hands across the can that much louder. The slurping beside him continued until the drink ran dry. He heard the click of the cooler opening, the ice being dug through by mismatched hands, and Jamison's faint muttering as he read the labels of their assortment. He named the various brands to himself, eventually trailing off into silence.

With his eyes still closed, Mako ran his fingers across the damp wood beneath him, feeling old marks carved by residents and tourists alike. He traced the shapes and letters, piecing together words and phrases. The messages were terribly generic. He didn't bother with the details.

'____ and ____ were here.'

'Greetings from ____ .'

'___ loves ___.'

And many more littered the splintered boards of the old dock. Mako sighed, letting his mind wander back again.

They were sitting in the same spot, four years younger, and during a much more reasonable time of the day. Families lounged on the sand. Swimmers did laps in the water. Surfers battled the powerful waves in the distance. Fishermen casted out their nets and set off in their motor boats.

A typical day at the beach.

Mako and Jamison watched a high-tech jet ski hovering over the water, driven by a glamorous looking man wearing reflective shades. Jamison scoffed at the mere poshness of the thing, and at the equal level of poshness of its driver. Mako was quiet while Jamison ranted, listening and thinking. The duo were so accustomed to wheels and transportation that  actually _touched_ the ground, so their pick up truck stuck out like a sore thumb among the other parked vehicles.

They were the only people perched on the old, rickety dock. Mako felt a tug on his line and quickly reeled in his new catch, while Jamison laid sprawled out next to him. The smaller man was on his back and stared at the kites weaving across the sky until he grew bored. He rolled over onto his stomach. Mako heard the tell-tale sound of scraping and glanced to his side. Jamison had whipped out his screwdriver and giggled as he carved into the wood. _"_ _ Rat_ _,"_ Mako warned, _"_ _ Don't _ _-"_

But the small damage to the dock had already been done. Mako could tell from the mischievous glint in those orange eyes, from the crooked grin stretched across that gaunt face, and from the slight twitch in his hands as he tried to cover up the evidence.  _"Lighten up, mate. There's plenty of other sappy shite etched into this old thing."_

Mako raised an eyebrow.  _ "Sappy?" _

_ "Heh, yeah." _

_ "Rat-" _

_ "Relax, will ya? No big deal." _ The faintest hint of pink coloured Jamison's sunburnt cheeks.

Curiosity got the best of him,  _ "Lemme see." _

Those twitchy hands remained cupped around the message,  _ "Nah." _

_ "Rat." _

_ "You're a persistent sonuvagun, eh? Okay, Hoggie, but don't laugh."  _ Slowly, ever so slowly, he uncurled his hands, revealing the words underneath...

A loud belch snapped Mako out of the memory. His eyes forced open. He shot Jamison a reprimanding look, only to receive a smug smile and a toothy grin in return. Ever the charming one.

Jamison pointed at the sun glasses hanging on the hem of Mako's shirt. "Sun's comin' up, love. Reckon you should put your shades on."

Right. Of course. His eyes were starting to sting a little. "Thanks."

With a slight nod of the head, Jamison set his sights on the ocean. After putting his glasses on, Mako soon followed his gaze, glad to be behind the protection of opaque lenses.

He was pleasantly surprised as the sun's first rays peeked over the horizon, replacing the blue haze and washing the sky in pinks, oranges, and yellows.

Warm shades casted a faint glow onto his partner, adding a shine to his prosthetics and a sparkle in his eyes. Sitting on the dock side by side, sharing a few drinks, and witnessing the start of a new day always made Jamison look content. Relaxed. Healthy. Like he was still only twenty-five instead of fifteen years older with slight crows feet and wrinkles, a bad back, and a worse limp. Like he didn't spend his youth digging through the scrap metal and remains of Mako's mistakes. Like he didn't survive the literal apocalypse.

Under the light of the New Zealand sunrise, Jamison Fawkes looked happy.

A pang in Mako's chest made his breathing hitch. A good, unnerving kind of pain. Mixed with devotion and a layer of guilt that would never truly go away no matter how many times he was assured forgiveness.

Jamison Fawkes was  _ happy _ .

Mako didn't notice the hand placed over his own until knobby fingers brushed over his knuckles. Calloused and always trembling, Jamison rubbed circles over his scars. He wrapped his fingers around Mako's, lifted his massive hand off the dock, pulled it closer to him, and gently lowered it back down again. "Here."

The knowing smile on the smaller man's face proved that he was on to him since the beginning. He knew exactly what Mako was looking for while he was blindly trying to seek it.

Running broad fingers over the wood once more, Mako traced the wobbly letters carved by jittery hands so long ago.

F...

I...

F...

T-

"Oi."

He paused mid-letter. "Hm."

"Five dollars each. For each thought. That's it. That's my highest offer."

Mako sighed. He figured his partner would have forgotten about the whole ordeal. The expectant look Jamison was giving him proved otherwise. His persistence could beat his own stubbornness by a long shot. Mako silently admitted defeat. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

"Finally! The pig speaks. So..." Jamison nudged his arm and grinned. His gold tooth glinted in the sunlight. "Whatcha thinkin' about?"

Mako was beginning to have second thoughts. If he confessed, then surely the smaller man would never live it down. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the reaction.

Screw it.

"You," Mako mumbled. Barely audible. But Jamison heard him.

The grip on his hand tightened. Long fingers then laced with his own.

Two beats of silence passed before shrill laughter filled the air, breaking the peace and quiet of the empty beach.

"Sappy bastard," Jamison managed between giggles. "Shite. You sure got me, Hoggie. Didn't expect that." He tried to play it off through humour. Mako knew better. A deep shade of pink covered Jamison's cheeks and the tip of his nose. Mako really didn't seem like the type to make a 40-year-old man blush, yet here he was, sitting with him to watch the sunrise. His own cheeks began to get warm.

"Pass me a drink," Mako grunted.

"Yeesh. Way to ruin the moment, Pigface." Jamison tried to sound annoyed, but the lopsided grin on his face betrayed him. He tossed the big lug a can of cheap ale before grabbing his own. They popped open the tabs in unison. "Cheers, mate."

Mako pulled his medical mask down, revealing the smallest hint of a smile. "Cheers."

They each took a swig, basking in the light of the morning sun, hands still intertwined beside the phrase carved by a rusty orange screwdriver. A phrase that held so much history. So much commitment. So much meaning. An oath, a vow, and a promise all at once.

Mako ran his thumb over the letters, inviting the warm and fuzzy feeling settling comfortably in his chest.

_ 'Fifty-fifty.' _


	2. Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let these old men be gruff and cuddly and sappy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woke up starin' at this, starin' at this empty room  
> Looked at a thousand different pictures that your mother took of you  
> You see I had this crazy dream last night, this man he talked to me  
> He told me everything that's good and bad about my history
> 
> But he said that you are, you are the future  
> He said that you are, you are the future  
> And the future looks good
> 
> -Future Looks Good (OneRepublic, 2016)

Moonlight shone through the blinds, casting streaks of muted silver across the two figures. It gave the room an ethereal feeling, greeting Jamison as soon as he jolted awake, cold and trembling.

Long limbs scrambled across the bed, breathing was a laboured task, and sweat clung to his clammy skin as he struggled to break from his dream state.

There were always those few seconds between unconsciousness and reality, both terrifyingly dark and warped. Jamison rarely got enough proper sleep as it was, and his deprived mind had trouble registering his surroundings whenever he was so rudely woken. Which, to his dismay, was much too often.

Finally, after a few more moments of blind thrashing, his frantic breathing began to even out as his bloodshot eyes took in the sight of their cluttered bedroom. The large hand that found its way onto his chest also helped to slow down his heart rate.

His wide gaze darted around the room as he took deep, gasping breaths. His shaking fingers clutched the hand on his heart with an iron grip. Only when he heard a nearby grunt did he ease up his hold.

"Sorry," he rasped, softly rubbing at wherehis painted nails dug into thick, tanned skin.

Jamison shivered slightly as the hand slowly retreated, baring his chest to the cool coastal breeze blowing through one of the room's tiny windows. He closed his eyes as the mattress creaked and dipped, already missing the heavy hand and its grounding comfort. Disappointed, he assumed that the larger man rolled over and went back to sleep, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

However, the relief he felt when a massive arm curled around his skinny frame was immense. He sighed as he was pulled closer to his companion, pressing his side against the old pig's gut. A strong jaw, peppered with grey fuzz and small scars, nuzzled the top of his head.

"Nightmare," said a soft baritone through the darkness.

Jamison opened his eyes. His vision was slightly obscured by a curtain of silver hair. He licked his dry lips and nodded. "Lucky guess."

Mako sighed and hugged him closer.

The sound reverberated through Jamison's spine. He patted the bicep resting on his ribs. "Go back to sleep."

"Mhmh."

They laid in silence for a while. Through the small open window came the gentle crashing of ocean waves. Broad fingers eventually found their way to Jamison's head, carding through tangled patches of blond, and rubbing small circles along spots of bare scalp. His bald spots had slowly grown out after leaving Australia, but alas, the side effects of both radiation and aging is hair loss, unfortunately. Though Jamison agreed that the latter was much less detrimental to his health.

How Mako had managed to keep a full head of flowing silver, despite being so much older, is beyond him.

The old pig's steady breathing blew puffs of warm air across his cheek. "Which one," Mako asked, though his sleepy inquiries usually sounded more like statements rather than questions.

Jamison took a deep breath, practically melting under his companion's gentle touches. He curled his arms around Mako's forearm. "Not important. Go to sleep."

"Which one." Mako said again. His massive palm engulfed the side of Jamison's face. A thumb painted pink stroked his cheek bone.

The smaller man merely shook his head.

The hand on Jamison's cheek trailed down to his chest again. Mako lazily traced his collar bone. "Don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"I want to." Jamison swallowed the lump in his throat, "It's just-" He sniffed and rubbed the grogginess from his eyes.

"Take your time."

"It's hard, 'Hog."

"I'm here."

"I know."

"Whenever you're ready."

_Damn pig_ , Jamison thought with the smallest hint of a lopsided smile.  _Always knows what to say_.

Nightmares were more than just an occasional occurrence for the both of them, and each have devised steps to comfort the other. No matter how much he protested or demanded for the old bastard to go back to bed, Mako was determined to carry out his own steps.

According to Mako, the best remedy for his smaller partner whenever he was plagued by terrible dreams was to just talk it out. Even with Jamison's headstrong and difficult nature, both of them knew that voicing his concerns was the best way to ease the panic.

Tonight, however, had Jamison remaining uncharacteristically tight-lipped. That was how bad it had been before he forced himself to wake up. So bad that he broke out into a cold sweat just thinking about it.

He wanted to talk. He really did. It always helped if he did. And Mako was one hell of a listener.

But he assumed that sharing this particular nightmare would burst the dam he's repeatedly tried so hard to repair. He was never good at sharing his feelings, along with all that other emotional bullshit. He hated to admit it, but the years of relative calm and quiet in their little cliffside house slowly chipped away the metaphorical wall he built around his most intimate and innermost thoughts.

Living the simple life was peeling away at his Junker identity. Little by little. He didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing.

Jamison huffed.

Damn his sappy, aging, emotionallysensitive heart.

He squinted as his eyes got used to the darkness. The soft moonlight washed everything in a subtle silvery-blue. Opposite to the murky dark green of the smog clouds back in Junkertown, glowing like radioactive cotton candy as that same moon illuminated them through most nights.

He squirmed upwards, rustling the covers, and craned his neck to peer over Mako's arm. Rather eccentric decorations were scattered across the space of a corner in the room.

There, on the wall opposite and adjacent to the bed, was their old gear.

The Scrap Gun, Frag Launcher, and pig-esque holster each sat neatly on their respective low steel shelves. His harness and Mako's vest hung above their neglected weapons. Boxes full of chains, canisters, scrap, traps, unfinished grenades, and dismantled mines sat beside the RIP-Tire propped up against the wall. Maps, schematics, heist plans, post cards, and photographs were pinned across every inch of the walls that wasn't already occupied.

Jamison's gaze trailed over the Junker memorabilia, taking in the thick layer of dust that coated each item, the occasional nostalgic fingerprint, and the faintest scent of cool metal, until he finally saw what he was looking for.

In the middle of the wall hung the very two objects that served as the front of his partner's long-term notoriety, once upon a time. The tools of a persona Mako adopted after the explosion. A persona that took him years to develop and mould.

A persona he had long since given up when they decided to settle down together.

The huge hook glinted proudly under the light of the crescent moon. If Jamison squinted hard enough, he could still see flecks of dried up blood and oil along the handle, curve, and tip. Beside the hook was the real prize.

The rubber pig mask, with its protruding snout, stitched scowl, and life-saving filters, looked back at him with a vacant, menacing stare.

Jamison slumped back into the pillows. Ah, the memories. Some good, some bad, but they were  _ his _ memories, even when he couldn't quite remember sometimes.

Carefully, so as to not disturb his partner, Jamison lifted Mako's arm and rolled over so that they were facing each other. The massive arm remained curled around his side. Jamison tentatively reached out with his flesh hand to cup Mako's scarred cheek.

It was hard to believe that there was ever atime in his life when Mako's face was nothing but a mystery. And for the first few months or so into their partnership, it most certainly was. The mere thought of not knowing the face under the mask drove him batty and kept him up most nights.

But when the time finally came, and the man underneath the persona trusted him enough to reveal himself, Jamison wholeheartedly agreed that all the waiting was worth it. Every longing moment spent wondering was so, so worth it in the end.

He stroked his thumb over the pig's cheek bone, relishing in the softness of his skin. Mako's eyes were shut and his breathing was steady. Jamison sighed and pressed a light kiss to the corner of his lips. "Keep sleepin', big guy. Don't you worry about me."

The arm around Jamison tightened to pull him as close as possible. To his surprise, he was met with soft kisses to his clammy forehead. Large fingers kneaded at the stiff muscles on his back. "Still awake."

"Had me fooled for a minute there," Jamison said, savouring the feeling of a wide palm massaging all the gnarled knots and sore spots. He snaked an arm around Mako's thick neck and raked his fingers through silver hair.

They laid like that for a few moments, enjoying each other's touch. As Jamison listened to the background noises of the outside world, feint splashes against the cliffside rocks reminded him of waves that lapped against their old dock's support beams.

"Hog," he moved back so he could meet the warm gaze of small brown eyes. "Remember when we went to the beach."

"That was only yesterday, 'Rat."

"Yeah," he scratched behind Mako's ear, "Remember what you said when I asked you what's on your mind.

"Don't," Mako grumbled, assuming that he was going to be teased again for being such a corny old bastard.

"Relax, would ya? Not gonna poke fun this time, ya piggy Casanova." He snickered and kissed the soft tanned skin of Mako's neck. "Just wanted to know what you meant."

"It's obvious."

"It's ambiguous," Jamison retorted, "Just plain sayin' 'You' all mysterious and shite can mean anythin'."

"You really wanna know?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "Wanted to ask you earlier but I forgot until now." Mako's reluctant response yesterday made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and he wanted to know the context.

The hand on his back ceased its movements. Jamison was about to protest until the other man shifted. The mattress groaned underneath them as Mako sat up and scooped Jamison into his arms, cradling him to his stomach.

He leaned against Mako's chest. His pastel pink shirt smelled like fabric softener and gasoline.

"Do you like it here?" Came a low rumble that reverberated through Jamison's whole body.

Thick eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. "What?"

"This place," Mako continued, "This life. Are you happy?"

"Uh," The questions that actually  _ sounded _ like questions caught him completely off-guard. "What're you on about, Mako? I like it here! The beach, the people, this ancient bach we call home..." he gripped Mako's thumb and gave a reassuring squeeze, "Wouldn't have agreed to move out here with you if I didn't want to."

"I know," Mako sighed, "Just been thinking lately."

"About what?"

"Stuff."

"Gotta be more specific, mate."

"The house repairs we gotta make after the last storm, for starters," Mako went on, stroking a hand through Jamison's hair again, "Then there's the pigs all alone out in the yard, plus Petunia and how she's holding up with her litter on the way."

"No need to worry, Hoggywog. I fixed up the pen and added another layer of barbed wire around the second fence. The pigs are practically livin' in a damn roofless bunker." Jamison grinned and patted his arm reassuringly. He hoped that the added defenses would ease his companion's worries. Mako's parental concern for their pet pigs was rather endearing. "Ol' Pea's a tough porker. She'll be just fine."

Thick, scarred lips kissed the top of Jamison's head, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it, love." He leaned up to catch those lips in a quick peck before pulling back. "Keep talkin'."

Mako nodded. A thoughtful expression graced is face, deepening the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. "Been thinking about other stuff too."

"Go on," Jamison urged, "What else?"

"You. Me. Us," Mako said. "Past memories. Present moments. Future prospects. Been thinking about us in general."

That warm, fuzzy feeling in Jamison's chest returned.

"Being on the run," he continued, "The jobs we used to take. The fun we used to have. The thrill of it all before Talon and before Overwatch and when everything just felt..."

" _ Right _ ," they said in unfazed unison.

"Just the two of us," Jamison mused. He would be lying if he said he didn't reminisce too. "Do you...do you miss it?"

"Sometimes," Mako confessed.

Jamison nodded in agreement. While they both longed for the adventure of a criminal lifestyle, they couldn't keep it up forever.

"Dunno why I'm so stuck in the past. It's a bad habit," Mako sighed. "You're still here. That's all that matters."

"Ain't goin' anywhere." Jamison tugged thefront of Mako's shirt and pulled him into a deep kiss. "Ain't goin' anywhere without you." He murmured against his lips. He would follow this sappy softie to the goddamn ends of the earth if it meant they could stay together.

Mako smiled into the kiss, and gave him one last smooch before abruptly pulling away. "Okay, you're turn."

Jamison pouted at the lack of snogging, "Aw what? The night was just gettin' good."

"Your turn to talk."

Jamison rolled his eyes at Mako's insistence, "Way to ruin the damn moment, pigface."

The larger man chuckled and laid back down. Jamison rolled over to lay on the curve of his massive gut and to rest a pointy chin on his soft chest.

They were a rather odd couple, no doubt about that, but they fit.

Mako ran his hands along Jamison's back and hips. "Don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"I want to."

"Go on then," Mako gently petted his wild hair back, "The one with fire."

Jamison looked away and shook his head.

Mako hummed and took another guess, "The one with water."

Jamison shook his head again, but brought his gaze back to those sleepy brown eyes. He exhaled deeply. "It's not the one where we're flyin' in the plane either. This one was new, 'Hog. Well, not new. Probably dreamt it before and just forgot. But it's not one of the common ones."

Mako's face grew somber, and he wrapped his arms around the smaller man in a tight embrace. "Keep going."

Purple eyelids fluttered shut as Jamison tried to recall the nightmare. "Dirt," he began, "There was a lot of dirt and rock and debris. It was everywhere, mate. It filled my eyes and nose and lungs. I couldn't breathe."

A massive palm engulfed his head, stroking his hair and neck. He took a deep, quivering breath and continued.

"There was this crushing pressure all through me. Not the good kind. Not like when you'd pin me down or accidentally squish me with your gut. It was suffocating. It hurt."

Callused thumbs rubbed his stumps, easing out his taut muscles. He wrapped his long arms around Mako's side, trying to hug as much of him as he could without the aid of his prosthetic. 

"I could hear voices past the dirt. Familiar ones. Couldn't discern them. Didn't know which voice belonged to who. Except yours. Yours was the clearest out of all of them. The loudest and strongest too. Didn't know what any of you were sayin', though. Too muffled."

Beneath his ear was Mako's heartbeat, pulsing and steady and strong. The rise and fall of his gut reminded him of the waves that gently rocked their boat whenever they were out at sea.

"I was trapped in my own bloody tomb, love. Dream-me knew that if I didn't act fast I was gonna die under all that earth. So I followed the voices. I started digging in their direction. I crawled and scratched and dug until all I could hear was the voices over my own heavy breathing. I pawed at a rock until it broke off. A line of light flooded into the darkness and poof, the wall of dirt was gone. I had dug an opening and scrambled out of it like a bat out of hell."

A fit of coughing interrupted his rambling. He quickly rolled off the other man's gut and helped sit him up. As Mako hacked and heaved, Jamison reached over for the emergency glass of water on the bedside table and promptly handed it to him. "Oi, don't go dyin' on me, pig." He rubbed circles across Mako's back as he emptied the glass in one gulp. "You okay?" he asked, hoping that the worry in his tone didn't make Mako feel worse.

"Yeah," he wheezed. He plopped back down with a heavy sigh and beckoned for Jamison to lie next to him. "I'm fine. Always happens. Keep going."

"If you need more water just ask, eh?" Jamison crawled into the space between Mako's arm and stomach, and was quickly squeezed into another comforting embrace. "After that fit I should probably spare you the gory details."

Mako chuckled weakly and shrugged. "Say what you want. I'll listen."

"You're the best, you know that? Anyways, where was I...roight. So I was out of that dirt coffin, expecting to see the folks that the voices belong to, until I ran head first into a group of bloody red-eyed Oms. And...well..." he swallowed the returning lump in his throat and turned to Mako, giving him a sad smile. "I said I'll spare you the gory details. You've seen first hand what they could do. Don't gotta paint a picture. So yeah, that's all."

Speaking from experience, waking up because of how loud you could scream in a dream certainly wasn't pleasant.

The look on Mako's face was a mix of concern, grim, and anger. The last two weren't directed at him, but at the Omnics that dared showed their faces in Jamison's subconscious. He pulled the smaller man closer and kissed his forehead again.

Jamison sighed at the much needed affection. "Guess we'd never be rid of them, mate. Not in real life. Not even in my damn dreams."

"We're safe here," Mako murmured against his skin. "You're safe here."

"I know," Jamison croaked, blinking back the waterworks. Damn pig. His comforting words always got him emotional.

"Feel better?"

Jamison nodded and wrapped his arms around Mako's neck. The heavy weight on his chest had been lifted by the boundless strength of his partner.

He really didn't know what he would do without him.

"Love you, 'Hog."

The common phrase came out shakier than he wanted to, but the sincerity was there. 

"Love you too, 'Rat."

Jamison smiled and briefly kissed Mako's lips.

The old pig was right. This was home.

Anywhere with Mako was home.

They were safe here.

"Okay, big guy. That's enough for tonight. Get some shut-eye."

"You too."

After one more quick kiss, Mako pulled the covers over them, enveloping their bodies in its soft warmth. For the first time since he jolted awake that night, Jamison allowed himself to drift off.

They laid like that for the rest of the night, wrapped in each other's arms, until the gentle waves splashing against the rocks far below lulled them back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the longer-than-usual lack of updates. Like always, school is wild and I'm swamped. Plus, my immune system during the winter months is complete dung so I've been constantly sick. But I'm back with a quick chapter for the old geezers! I'm hoping to update Koraha in the (preferably) near future, so fingers crossed that life doesn't get in the way of my current writing groove. Thanks for reading, and Happy Belated New Year and Chinese New Year!


	3. Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamison and Mako go out to dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Come and get your love." 
> 
> -(Redbone, 1973)
> 
>  
> 
> ((Note: "wh" is pronounced as "f" in Maori dialect)).

Pink, neon lights illuminated the parking lot. Flickering from the giant garish milkshake sign gave Mako a headache, even from behind his shades. He glanced over to the passenger side; Jamison was squinting up at it, too.

He noticed the big guy’s stare and flashed him a bright, jagged grin. Metal fingers tapped the scuffed plastic of the glove compartment. “Think they fixed the juke this time?”

Mako’s face softened at the pep in his tone. “Maybe.”

He watched as the smaller man hopped out of the truck, jogged to the other side, and opened the driver’s door. A chuckle escaped him despite the buzz of the lights. Ever the romantic. Or at least, he tried to be. The effort was nice.

Jamison bowed and gestured to the old-fashioned establishment, beckoning for his partner to follow. “After you, my good man,” he said with a puffed-out chest and a failed lavish accent. He couldn't help but snicker when Mako played along, delicately taking hold of his hand and tiptoeing out of the vehicle, laughing all the while. The only things missing were a red carpet and a pair of sparkly outfits. He supposed that the cracked asphalt and their matching overalls would suffice.

Their fingers stayed intertwined as they headed up the pathway. The modest building was surrounded by well kept fauna and emitted a pink, fluorescent glow. A little bell rang overhead as they pushed past the front doors.

Like many aspects of the tiny, seaside town, the local diner retained a structure and model from much simpler times. It reminded both men of their stay at Route 66. Similar to the Panorama Diner. The main difference being that, as far as they knew, _this_ diner hadn't served as the base of operations for a notorious American gang. Tables and booths were filled with chattering patrons, dining under candlelight and around filled flower-vase centerpieces, making googly-eyes at each other.

Every other Wednesday was the diner’s self-proclaimed “Date Nights” Mako suddenly remembered.

He shot Jamison a narrow-eyed look, but the smaller man was already pulling him towards an empty booth near the back.

“Could’ve told me.” Mako huffed as he squeezed into the bench.

“Dunno what you're talkin’ ‘bout,” Jamison feigned ignorance, waving over the waitress from a nearby table. Mako had his arms folded as he leaned back into the plush seat. “Oh c’mon don't gimme that look.”

“Can't even see me,” Mako said, pointing at the red bandana covering the lower portion of his face.

“I can _feel_ it.” Jamison mimicked the big man’s posture, picking at his teeth with a mechanical finger.

He glanced down to scrutinize his attire, grimy and dusty from a day’s worth of work. “Could've dressed for the occasion.”

“Since when did _you_ care about dressin’ fancy?”

Mako snorted, “I don't. Picked up a tie the other day, though.” He straightened up when the waitress finally headed towards their booth. “Would've been nice to use that.”

“Hardly matters,” Jamison reached halfway across the table and laid his palm up. Mako sighed and followed suit, placing his hand over Jamison’s, completely engulfing it. He gently pressed down when skinny fingers tickled the patches of callus on his own palm, making the smaller man giggle. “You still look good”.

Mako chuckled before pulling down the bandana, revealing a worn, tired smile framed by wrinkles. The red tint in his ears was undeniable. Before he could retort with something equally mushy, a blur of mint green appeared in his peripheral as he brushed the pad of his thumb over Jamison’s bony knuckles.

The young woman’s dark skin and braid shone nicely under the haze of the dimmed lights. Her eyes were warm, but her mouth was curled into a teasing smirk. “Fancy seeing you two here, today of all days.”

Jamison grinned. “Thought I’d be nice to treat the ol’ lug here on a little date.”

“Sure surprised me,” Mako shrugged before turning to their favourite waitress. “Good to have you back, Awhina.”

“Yeah! We missed you, dear. You've gotta fill us in on the trip.” Jamison scooted over and patted the empty spot beside him. She obliged, sliding into the booth to join them briefly. The other customers were too invested in each other to notice that one server would be M.I.A. for a bit, right? She placed her hand on theirs, and Jamison pulled her into a side hug. “S’your Pa workin’ the kitchen today?”

“You bet. Pretty much took over the food prep position ever since my brother left for teacher’s college.” Awhina craned her head to peer into the order window, only to meet her dad’s stern gaze. A grizzled old man, only a few years older than Mako. Both in their sixties, though the owner of the diner was nearly at the ripe old age of seventy. He nodded politely, acknowledging the pair, before mouthing silently for his youngest daughter to ‘ _please_ _get back to work_.’

“Well,” Awhina sighed, “That’s my cue.” She stood up and squeezed both men’s shoulders. “I’ll tell him you want the regular?”  

“Yeah, but add tonight’s special to the mix,” Jamison piped up after doing a quick look-over of the menu.

“Red velvet, heart-shaped pancakes coming right up,” she took note of the request on her tablet before heading back to the order window. “I'll sit and talk to you later, Uncles. Catch you at closing time.”

“Ta, sweetheart,” Jamison waved.

“Take it easy,” Mako waved, too.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Jamison moved to sit next to Mako. He didn't need a whole, lonely bench to himself when he could cuddle up with his favourite pig instead. Mako wrapped an arm around the old rat’s shoulders as he scooted over to make room. “Comfortable?” He asked.

 _Always comfortable with the big lug around._  “Yeah,” he mumbled, leaning into the half-embrace. “Should we tell Awhina to give her Gran a heads up-?”

“Nah,” Mako yawned, exhausted from all the heavy-lifting he'd done in the scrapyard. “Surprise her. We’ll have a good catch to bring in after we head out on Sunday.”

“Okay,” Jamison said, pressing a light kiss to the hand on his shoulder.

“You know,” Mako began, scratching the spot behind the rat’s ear, “You're the only one who calls her Gran.” He found it both funny and endearing; not even her dozens of grandkids called her that, though there was nothing wrong with it.

“Yeah?” Jamison raised an eyebrow, “Hmm... _Whaea keke_.” Christ, his pronunciation was shit. “Uh, that’s the term Awhina uses?” Right?

“Right.”

 _Aunt_. Good. Okay, yeah, he could remember that. Easy. Made sense. Awhina’s father was the youngest brother of the family line, after all. But- “Should I...start callin’ her that?” They were by no means related, but if _that_ was the respectable way to address the little old woman then he should probably start-

“No need, I guess,” Mako shrugged after mulling it over, ruffling Jamison’s hair. “She’s never cared about titles.”

Oh. Phew.

“Yeah,” he laughed. “I figured.”

The food went as quickly as it came. Jamison sat across from Mako again just to give the big guy more elbow room. By the time they finished eating the main course, most of the patrons had already called it a night and left. Couples old and young; some with children to go home to, and others who continued the fun at the bar down the road. Meanwhile, the rat’s stare was fixated on the jukebox, polished wood and flashing lights, finally fixed after the repairs from earlier that week. _Bloody prehistoric_ , it was. But still functional. The selection wasn't half-bad, in his opinion, before the thing up and broke.

“Hey,” he tugged on the strap of Mako’s overall, “Let’s-”

“Jamison,” Mako sighed, muffled around a mouthful of French toast, “Not yet.”

“Aw, c’mon.”

“Dessert first.”

Right, the pancakes. They haven't come out yet. Red velvet; one of his favourites. “Promise?”

“Yes.”

Jamison clasped his hands together, pleased, mind running a mile a minute as he decided on which song to pick. His eyes trailed over his partner, relaxed and still sipping on his comically small tea cup. Mako’s sleeves were rolled up, and Jamison couldn't help but trace the lines of his biceps until he caught sight of it; the tips of inked, grooved skin.

The intricate swirls of Mako’s  _ta moko_ peaked over the curve of his right shoulder. A permanent ode to his heritage, previously hidden by a yellow metal shoulder pad and the remains of a spiked tire. A well-kept secret of his life before the meltdown. Before Australia and the Outback and Jamison.

The first time the subject was brought up occurred some years ago, while they were bunkered down in the living room during a thunderstorm, hidden under blankets and watching 3AM infomercials. They were lying on the floor, shirtless, in their boxers, surrounded by snack wrappers and couch pillows. Jamison’s long, twitchy fingers traced the patterns and symbols etched across his partner’s tanned skin, out of both curiosity and just mere affection. A relaxing way to spend the time until the storm passed.

 _“Love,”_ he murmured, giving Mako’s shoulder a soft squeeze.

“ _Hmm,_ ” came a deep, sleepy rumble from beneath the covers, in tune to the static of the TV. A giant hand emerged from the knitted quilt, reaching out to stroke through Jamison’s hair.

He licked his lips, unsure. A beat of silence passed. “ _Nevermind_.”

Mako took a deep, steady breath when those skinny fingers resumed their place, dipping into the trails of ink left by a shark tooth chisel long ago. He knew what his partner wanted to ask. Expected it, too; the hesitation and tongue-tideness that came with this kind of topic whenever it was on the horizon.

Jamison knew how much these tattoos hurt, if the carvings across his wrinkled skin were anything to go by. He’s seen the pig get shot, stabbed, slashed, and anything else one could think of over the years, but this was a voluntary infliction that stemmed from a unique cultural art form. It took real dedication and will-power to sit through bursts of the actual process, plus the healing periods afterwards. Truly a sacred procedure to behold. Call him a history fanatic, but Jamison genuinely enjoyed learning about his companion’s background. Whenever he was willing to share tidbits and facts, that is.

“ _Right side represents maternal ancestry,_ ” Mako finally spoke up, sparing his partner from the internal argument he was surely having, about whether or not he should even ask. Happened every time. He didn't need to feel reluctant by this point. Certainly not with Mako.

Jamison rubbed circles over Mako’s back, humming thoughtfully. His hand dragged across Mako’s spine, neck, hair, eventually reaching the mole-ridden, uninked skin of the big man’s other shoulder. “ _Paternal is the left side._ ” Right?

A drawn-out yawn rustled the covers. “ _Yeah_.”

Right.

Winds brought by the rain sent a shiver through Mako as the edge of the quilt was lifted. The smaller man rolled under the covers to join him and escape the cold. He draped his lanky arm and leg over the expanse of his speckled back, tucked his stumps under the rotund stomach, and hugged the old pig as much as he could. This new warmth was welcomed.

A brief stretch of quiet passed between the pair, save for the low-volume noise of the television and the erratic crashing of ocean waves against the cliffside. When the words eventually came they were merely a whisper, almost covered by the faint howling of the storm.

 _“Do you miss them?_ ”

Mako tensed all over. Well, he really wasn't expecting that. He rolled over to face Jamison. To really look at him. He could tell from the way his amber pupils had blown wide that he’d instantly regretted asking.

 _Of course he does_ , Jamison hissed internally. Stupid. Such a stupid question. He's probably asked this before. Why did he say that? Now the big lug’s gonna be in a crabby mood-

His train of self-depreciating thoughts came to an immediate halt when a large hand cupped the side of his face. A thumb rubbed his cheekbone, across the freckled, sun-kissed skin. The older man leaned in, touching their foreheads together, and pulled Jamison close.

 _“I do_ ,” Mako said, his normally calm composure quivering slightly. The words were awkward and heavy on his tongue. “ _Everyday_.” He stroked along Jamison’s back and pressed a soft, reassuring kiss on his cheek when he felt him tremble, and all the tension in his scrawny body seemed to melt away.

God, he's never stopped missing them. Never stopped thinking about them, even when he lived among the scrap and ruins. Even when the mere thought of them made it even harder to breathe through the radiated air. Even when blood stained his hands and spilled across the broken highways. The pain and longing he’s carried would only be made fuzzy as the years went by, but never would these burdens truly go away.

Guilt and regret, in all their forms, would always loom over him.

But when he looked into the half-lidded, amber gaze of the wiry man in his arms, he knew that everything was going to be okay. It didn't have to hurt so much anymore. Nothing was going to take away from what he had now.

Jamison Fawkes was the only family Mako had left.

And when it really came down to it, he was the only family Mako would ever need.  

The sweet scent of freshly made pancakes wafted through the air, pulling both men from the dream-like haze of the memory. A gentle hand touched their shoulders.

“Eat up, Uncles,” Awhina pushed the platter of pancakes closer to them.

“Thank you, Ina.”

“Ta, sweetheart.”

She smiled and clasped her fingers together, “The Juke is up and running, by the way. I know how much you two missed that.” She winked and gestured to the almost empty establishment before heading back through the kitchen’s double doors.

They barely had the chance to admire the presentation of the dish before Jamison dug in. He cut the stack of red velvet clean in half and transferred his portion to the plate that previously hosted his order of sausage and eggs. An orange hand eagerly shoved the rest of the pancakes in Mako’s direction, urging him to eat. He didn't touch the intact half yet, and instead watched the smaller man practically inhale the dessert. The corners of his thin lips soon became covered in crumbs and specked with powdered sugar. Mako absentmindedly reached out to wipe Jamison’s face with a napkin, earning himself a string of hoarse giggles.

“Two halves of a heart, eh?” He managed between his laughter, holding the back of Mako’s hand as it swiped over his mouth.

“Already ate your half,” Mako said, smiling a small smile at the afterthought. He placed the napkin aside and gestured to Jamison’s almost empty plate. “Slow down. You'll get heartburn.”

“Haven't even touched yours.”

“Not that hungry anymore, actually.”

“Hmmm, I dunno, love. You're missin’ out,” he cut a piece from his own half and brought it close to Mako’s face. “Ah,” he said, opening his mouth wide, and Mako did the same. Jamison fed him the piece and leaned back into the bench padding, full and relaxed. “So? Whaddya think?”

“It’s good,” Mako gave a thumbs up, and his half of the pancakes suddenly seemed much more enticing.

“Real good,” Jamison nodded in agreement. Unzipping the front pouch of his overall, he fished out a shiny $1 coin, holding it against the pink light, and stood. “I'll go ahead and get it started while you finish up.” He patted Mako’s ponytail as he passed their table, then paused and took a few steps back. “Got any requests?”

Mako shrugged, “Surprise me.”

“Roight-o. Sit tight. Be back in a tick.” Another pat on Mako’s head, then he was off to fiddle around with the juke. There was a skip in his step as he limped across the diner. The little bell above the glass doors rang from the far side; the last couple left the premises, hand in hand and chattering away.

Sweet was the first word that came to mind while Mako chewed on the pancakes. Sweet due to the generous serving of whip cream on the side and powdered sugar sprinkled on top. Tangy, too, thanks to the cream cheese butter layered between each flapjack. He’ll have to haggle Amahau for the recipe. Sure, it was one of many _family_ recipes, but weren't _they_ \- Jamison and himself - practically family? He supposed so. He _hoped_ so, considering all the gatherings they’d been invited to and attended over the years. Plus, the owner of the diner _did_ say he owed them for repairing his truck last week.

A rhythmic drum beat sounded from the back of the diner, accompanied by the steady thump of the background bassline, sending wave after reverberating wave along Mako’s spine.

 _Of course he'd choose this song_ , Mako rolled his eyes, though there was an unspoken fondness to the gesture. He turned around in his seat, arm draped across the back of the bench, and squinted to see past the lights. He really wished he’d brought his other pair of glasses.  

Despite wanting to keep a straight face, a small chuckle escaped him as his vision finally came into focus. It was difficult to keep a hardened visage on when Jamison was leaning against the polished wood of the jukebox, swaying his hips in time with the twang of the electric sitar, and belting out the lyrics in that raspy, scratchy tune Mako had grown to admire.

_“Hey, hey, what's the matter with your head?_

_“Yeah-ah_

_“Hey, hey, what's the matter with your mind and your sign?_ _  
_

_“And-a ooh-ohh.”_

Jamison didn't sound half bad, with a voice reminiscent to those century-old rock and metal bands they often listened to. His peg leg tapped out its own tempo as it clattered against the floor tiles. He was dancing his way towards their booth, performing some goofier rendition of the electric slide, singing all the while.

 _“Hey, hey, nothin's a matter with your head, baby, find it_ _  
_

_“Come on and find it.”_

A bouquet of garden flowers sat nicely at the booth beside theirs. Jamison plucked a rose from the vase that held them before he slid across the floor on his heel and peg, skidding to a halt right in front of Mako. Still dancing his little jig, he held the rose out, offering it to the big lug, and smiled from ear to ear as he sang the last lines of the first verse.

_“Hell with it, baby_

_“Cause you're fine, and you're mine, and you look so divine.”_

The stem, absent of its thorns, was carefully tucked into Mako’s front pocket, with the red rose proudly sticking out. An elegant contrast to the dirt and petrol that stained his baggy overalls.

Jamison laughed, breathless and giddy. “Let's groove, Mako.”

The corners of Mako’s lips turned up. “It's not the seventies.”

“Bringin’ it back,” he winked, and began pulling on Mako’s arm, coaxing him to stand up. “Dance with me, love.”

Mako decided to tease him, just a little bit. “I don't dance.”

“Aw c'mon. Ain't so bad on your feet,” Jamison flashed him a crooked grin. “I've seen the Cabbage Patch, but I reckon you can tango with the best of them.”

“And by _them_ you mean _you_.”

“Absolutely.”

With one final tug on Jamison’s part, his efforts were rewarded by large hands gently gripping his hips. Mako got up and, quite literally, swept the smaller man off his feet, leading them back towards the juke.

They started off clumsy, getting used to the rhythm and beat of the song, but eventually found a fluidity to their movements. Mako’s hands remained on Jamison’s narrow torso, and Jamison’s arms wrapped around Mako’s neck, pulling each other close.

They were nearly the same height now. Copious sessions of physical therapy have aided in treating Jamison’s posture, and now he could stand to his full height for longer periods of time, even when his back pains still persisted. Mako, on the other hand, was undoubtedly aging, and developed the slightly hunched-over stance that most elderly folk had (although it was nowhere near as severe as Jamison’s past condition).

Gently rocking side to side to the music, Mako rested his chin on Jamison’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of cheap cologne that couldn't quite mask the sharp smell of metal. He felt jittery fingers comb through his hair, loosening the grey strands from his tuft of a ponytail. Mako sighed, “Been awhile since we did this.”

“Juke’s only been busted for two weeks,” Jamison reminded him.

“Not what I meant.”

“I made you dance at Gran’s birthday dinner last Saturday.”

Mako snorted, “Yeah. Not talking about that, though.”

The last verse of the song hit. Jamison pulled back to look into small brown eyes peeking over dark shades. “Then what?”

“Remember,” Mako said, “Overwatch. Awards ceremony. Then the after party. The froggy freedom fighter was DJ-ing. Said we could add to the playlist.”

“Ah,” Jamison snapped his mechanical fingers and gestured to the juke. “I remember. Same song?”

“Same song.”

“Nice,” Jamison laughed, “Time sure does fly.”

Mako nodded, “Fifteen years in the blink of an eye.”

Thick, blond brows furrowed in contemplation. Jamison slid his hands over his partner’s broad shoulders and cupped his face, prickly with silver stubble. “Christ,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to Mako’s. “Is... is that how long it's been?” He said the words slow, almost shakily, like his voice was threatening to break.

“Hasn't felt long at all,” Mako hummed, rubbing Jamison’s back when he started to shiver. He’s always been the more emotional one. Sentimental, too. He pressed a kiss on the smaller man’s cheek. “Hey, now. Chin up.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he sniffed, recovered, then laughed again despite his wavering tone. “Just, wow.”

“Yeah,” Mako mumbled, wrapping his arms around Jamison’s waist, swaying to the last few seconds of the upbeat classic. “Alright?”

“I’m okay, I’m okay. Just a tad nostalgic, is all.” Jamison sighed and kissed along the old pig’s jaw until he reached his lips. “Lead the way, big guy. We got until closing time," he said, giggling, before quietly humming the song again.

_“Come and get your love.”_

Mako smiled, warm and content. “I got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh it's been, what, four months since the last update? Way, way too long. This chapter’s been on the back burner for quite awhile now. 
> 
> But I'm glad to say that with only two exam lefts, ya girl is finally graduating high school! (*confetti noises*) That means more time for me to get back into the writing groove, and hopefully more frequent updates from now until summer ends. Also, sorry for not replying to comments for both of the fics I have out. I really appreciate every single one, and I promise I’ll get to it whenever I update each respective story. 
> 
> Anyways, enough of me rambling, I hope you enjoyed this kind of filler chapter, inspired by the Anniversary event dance emotes of course. Thanks for reading and have a great week!


	4. Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place a few years before the previous chapters. Inspired by my 5 hour adventure at the Drive Test Centre with a friend back in August.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's midterm season, and writing these two is a good stress reliever.

_Mako,_  Jamison thought, letting out a shaky breath into his clasped hands, _You're doin’ this for Mako_.

He sighed and slumped back into the bench. Picked at the dry patches on his face. Scratched the scruff along his jaw. Clean and “presentable” for once. Whatever that meant.

It was still weird for him, to pull back and not see soot trapped underneath his bitten, jagged nails. To catch sight of faded scars across the hand that wasn't covered by fingerless gloves anymore. His mind drifted, reeling back the events of that day, wishing that the big lug would just come back from his tea run already.

 

 

It had been Mako’s idea to camp outside the entrance of their closest AA Centre. They drove through quiet towns, through bustling city streets, and arrived at 8 AM sharp. A solid hour before it opened to the public that day. It would've been a brilliant plan, if about forty other people didn't have the same idea and weren’t swarming outside the doors by the time they got there.

Jamison grumbled audibly, making it known to his partner that forcing him out of bed that early just to take some regulated test was outright ridiculous. Mako just shrugged, failing to hide the small, amused smile behind the thin sheet of his mask. Chuckling a little and patting down the rat’s wild hair, he recalled the first time he had to visit this very same centre during his youth, reminiscing while they walked together. Practically ancient history.  

“The earlier the better,” Mako said. Jamison hated to admit that he was right. “The sooner we line up, the sooner we can leave.”

“If I pass on the first try, lunch is on you.”

“Deal.”

They shook on it.

Really, though, he was glad for Mako’s insistence, even more so as the line of people behind them grew longer, filing along the building’s glass windows and taking a turn at the corner. Phew. He sure was glad he wasn't those folk. Punctuality was key at times like these. Mako’s words, not his.

It would be awhile until they reached the front desk. Jamison yawned, leaning against Mako’s side, eyes drifting shut. “Wake me up when we get there.”

Mako snorted and used a hand to support his partner upright. The younger old man had stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, building God-knows-what out on the balcony of their fifth floor room, so Mako could indulge him. Just this once. The crowd began to grow, as did the number of people staring in their direction, and Mako squared his shoulders. This wasn’t the Outback anymore. But the eyes stabbing into his back were enough to keep him awake and alert.

Jamison actually managed to drift off while standing up. A true feat for his usually jittery self. The half hour they spent waiting outside came and gone, and soon they stepped foot into the air-conditioned threshold of the centre. Jamison was eventually nudged awake. Wiped the drool off his chin and sputtered a bit as Mako led him forward.

They were greeted by the tired, wrinkled face of the lady manning the front counter. She scanned them up and down. Jamison shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her piercing gaze while Mako casted a stark shadow over her work station. Despite her deadpan expression, the growing gleam in her eyes indicated that she knew of them.

Who didn't at this point? They had managed to make the 6 o’clock news far too many times to count. Not to mention there was that pesky crime special starring them, outlining their destructive worldwide shenanigans, still floating around. Their time spent in Overwatch, or Talon for that matter, didn't grant them full pardon. At least not everywhere, and certainly not to everyone.

She blinked a few times, registering the sight in front of her, before breathing out a resigned sigh. “You work in the same place for thirty-five years and eventually a ghost will come back to haunt you.”

Jamison frowned and tilted his head.

Her gaze was directed upwards and yet, she wasn't looking at him. A wrinkled hand extended to the man at his side. “What brings you back ‘ere, Mako?”

The creases on Jamison’s face deepened as confusion set in. His eyes flitted between them. “You know each other?”

Cripesake, it seemed like the big lug knew everybody here in Penrose. First the couple down at the bakery, then the bloke at the flower shop, and now-

“Ms. Feng,” Mako murmured. Memories came flooding back to him. He closed his fingers around her hand to complete the gesture. Her mood did a complete 180 and she laughed. A soft, delicate sound that contrasted her pale, sharp features. The grey hair framing her face shook with her shoulders. He was surprised to find her still working at the centre after all these years.

“Polite as ever, I see. Though you still haven’t answered my question, young man.”

Jamison bit back a giggle. Ol’ Hoggy was anything but a young man. Himself included. Their bones creaked and cracked too much.

“Actually,” she peered between them, remembering the growing line of waiting people. “Let's get straight to business first. What’re you two ‘ere for today?”

Mako nudged Jamison forward. _Go on_.

Jamison glared over his shoulder, playfully stuck his tongue out at his partner, before turning back to the bony old woman. “Takin’ the Learner Licence test, Ma’am.”

“Hm,” She stared Jamison down for a bit. Her eyes flicked to Mako, then back to him, all in a split second. “Did you fill out the application?”

“Erm, no,” he opened his satchel and rummaged through it, “But I have the docs for identification. Just - hold on - dammit where'd I put them?” he muttered under his breath. When it grew increasingly obvious that the required papers weren't in his bag, Jamison smiled sheepishly at her, “Uh, gimme a tick.” Shit, he left the folder back at their room. Mako was gonna be pretty annoyed with him the whole car ride back. They needed to drive back to the motel and-

To his immense relief, a beige Manila folder slid across the counter. Large, painted fingers rested on his name, scrawled in black marker. Mako’s ring glimmered under the light, catching the elderly woman’s eye. He turned to the old rat. “Picked this up from the kitchenette counter before we left. Forgot to tell you. Sorry.”

Jamison straightened up and resisted the urge to fiddle with his own tungsten band. “Ah, no worries. Knew I was missin’ something. Thanks, Mako.”

“Don't mention it.” He softly squeezed Jamison’s prosthetic hand behind the desk before lowering his arm to his side again. A fleeting gesture that had the smaller man’s ears turning pink.

“Well,” Ms. Feng spoke up, not hiding the knowing smile on her face, “Let’s take a look.” She opened the folder and scanned the documents with expert speed. “Seems like everything’s in order, Mr. Fawkes. Please fill out the application to the side ‘ere.”

“Roight-o. Thanks,” Jamison tipped his head politely as she handed him the touch screen tablet and stylus. Real traditional. He tucked the documents into his own bag and stepped aside for Mako to take his place, keeping an ear open while the two chattered.

“What're you in for today, Rutledge?”

“Need to convert my current license,” he took out his own papers and handed them to her, “Been in the country off and on for nearly twelve months by now.”

Ms. Feng hummed as she looked them over. “You two plan on staying long term then?” She slid the papers back to him.

“Most likely.” He filed his folder away into the side pocket of his stitched-up duffel bag. They'd been discussing the prospect of retiring for some time now. Mostly in hushed whispers or over early morning coffee. Eventually, they came to a mutual understanding and the ideal destination.

New Zealand. Mako missed it, and Jamison had always wanted to see it.

“Lovely,” the old woman beamed. “Welcome back, Hon. Settling down somewhere close?” There was a teasing edge to her tone. Similar to a snoopy family member at a dinner party.

“Still looking around. Haven't found the right place yet.”

“Well, I hope you find a cozy little house here in Penrose. I'd be nice being neighbours again. Catch up over some tea.”

“I'll stop by sometime for sure.”

“Bring him along, too,” she winked.

Mako huffed out a light laugh. “Definitely.”

That’s the third invitation they've gotten this past week, Jamison thought to himself. He fiddled with the stylus in his hands. His application was already completed, his signature displayed in his scrawly, messy writing.The big lug side-stepped to stand beside him. Jamison leaned against Mako’s shoulder to watch him type and sign off. The tablet and stylus were miniscule in Mako’s hands. He subconsciously rubbed small circles across the small of Mako’s broad back, and tried to calm his nerves in the presence of all these people.

Today was the day that he, Jamison “Junkrat” Fawkes, was going to write a test. Practically his first ever. Something he thought he'd never do even once in his life.

Little did he know, the old woman kept an eye open for them, smiling like a proud auntie who found out that her nephew finally scored a date, while she handled the next person in line. Soon, after typing away on her holoscreen and taking the tablets to file their applications away, she shuffled over to them. “I've got good news and bad news. The good news is that Mako won't have to sit through anymore theory or road tests, and Jamison can do his today and get it over with.”

Jamison grinned and proudly patted Mako on the shoulder. At least only one of them had to sit through this. They were ready to hear the latter.

“Now, bad news,” she pressed on. “Well, not really bad. More so a hassle. He's been scheduled to do his test at three-thirty later on in the afternoon. Plus, you both have to do the quick eye examination and get your photo ID’s taken. So line up over there to pay the fee, get your eyes checked and your pictures done, and then you two will have to come back in a few hours. Unless you want to grab a bench here while there's still space. But that'd be terribly boring, innit? I'd advise you to check in at least an hour before your appointed time. Just in case we can slide you into an earlier slot. Got it?”

They both nodded.

“Oh, and Jamison?”

He froze a little. “Yeah?”

She smiled, warm and reassuring. “Good luck.”

Jamison smiled right back. “Ta, Ma’am.”

 

“Need your glasses for the eye test, ‘Rat.”

Jamison blinked and pawed at his pockets. “Ah shite-”

Mako hummed, reached into his overall pouch, then placed the orange specs case in Jamison's hands. “Ran out the door without them. Forgot to give them to you in the truck.”

“Unbelievable. Thanks, love, and no worries. I'd lose my damn head if it wasn't screwed on, huh.” Jamison sighed and opened the case as Mako rubbed his scrawny shoulders. Black frames with thick lenses sat inside the padded interior. The glasses came on and suddenly everything looked less blurred around the edges. Way more crisp and clear. Jamison looked up at Mako and smiled. His handsome ‘Hog. “Excuse me, Sir. What’s a rugged, fine-lookin’ gentleman such as yourself doin’ in this little ol’ place?”

“...Wow.” Mako barked out a laugh, startling the other people in line for the front desk. He shot them an apologetic nod before turning back to the old rat. “Used to work here, actually,” he said in a low voice. “Part-time.”

“Oh,” Jamison’s cheeky grin faltered as that tidbit of Mako’s past set in. This must've been one of the odd jobs Mako told him about. The ones he used to do in his youth. “Explains how you know the old lady then.”

Actually, Mako seemed to be friends with a lot of old ladies now that Jamison thought about it. Not surprising, really. A big, protective softie, he was.

Mako shrugged, “Next door neighbour when I moved out to my first apartment. Nice woman. Guided me through the first few months.”

“Ms. Feng landed you the gig?”

“Yup.”

“What was the job?”

“Security.”

“Had a feeling, “Jamison wrapped his arms around Mako’s bicep. “Big, tough guy like you? Perfect for the part.”

Mako snorted, looping an arm around Jamison’s waist and squeezing softly. “We’re up next.”

“Okay. Wait - how much do we gotta pay again?”

Mako leaned down to murmur into Jamison’s ear, revealing the cost of this whole excursion.

“Bloody hell.” Jamison smacked his forehead, “That's all the damn cash I got on me.”

“Better pass the test then,” Mako teased, “Lunch deal is still on.”

“I change my mind we’re goin’ back to the motel,” Jamison scurried away from their spot, jokingly yet hastily making an escape for the glass doors.

Mako sighed and grabbed his shoulder, hauling him back to the front of the line, ignoring his feeble attempts at getting out of this situation. “Make sure to smile nice for the picture.”

“Augh but Makoooooo-”

 

 

That initial visit - the wait outside, the application process, the brief exchange with Ms. Feng, paying the fee, and taking their photo IDs - spanned over an hour. Typical of the AA Centre. Not even ten minutes later, the two men found themselves at the edge of the park across the street, sitting on a bench together. Families and other old folk lounged about. Laughter filled the space of that bright, bustling afternoon.

Mako could feel Jamison’s skinny, hunched over frame wrack with anxiousness. Sharp elbows rested on equally pointy knees. Jamison seemed lost in thought. The most affected were his hands, twitching and shaking in an almost involuntary way. Mako closed his fingers over the much smaller ones in the hopes of calming him. “You okay?”

Jamison snapped his head up to look Mako in the eyes, still a little dazed, “Peachy.”

“Don't look like it.”

“Can't hide nothin’ from you, can I?”

Mako gripped those knobby fingers a little more firmly, “Wanna get something from across the street? Maybe give their mango a try. Heard their milk tea isn't half-bad.”

“Pfft. _I'll_ be the judge of that.”

Mako huffed out a quiet laugh, droning on about the different flavours, never letting go of Jamison’s hand.

Jamison let himself smile as he listened to Mako list off all the house specials. “Awfully chatty today, love,” he teased. “Glad your in a good mood.”

Mako leaned down to rest his cheek atop blond, patchy hair. “Want you to be in a good mood, too.”

Jamison sighed, “I know, I know. Been actin’ weird all day. Been feelin’ weird, too. Dunno, ‘Hoggy.”

“You’re nervous,” he said. “Spent almost three months studying and now we’re here.” The thought of his excitable, hyperactive partner sitting down and burying his pointy nose into a driving manual was still quite new to Mako. Terribly mundane. Not the slightest bit chaotic.

“Yeah, I guess,” Jamison sighed again, hands slightly trembling under the big lug’s palm. “It's just - I feel like I know the answers, but whenever I try to go over them in my head I just…blank out.”

“You know this.” Mako booped his partner’s forehead, and he relished in the resulting laughter. “The info’s all in here. You’ll see the questions and you'll remember the answers.”

The younger man stewed there for a minute, chewing on his lip, reflecting on his partner’s words of encouragement. Mako was so sure of his abilities that it made his chest hurt a little. He just didn't want to disappoint himself. More importantly, he didn't want to disappoint Mako. The only reason why he decided to get his license was because of Mako. Though Mako himself didn't know that. One day the scrawny man had just marched up to him, manual in hand, and boisterously announced that he wanted to give this license thing a try.

With a grunt, the big lug stood up from the bench, gently pulling Jamison with him. “Let’s see if that milk tea’s any good.”

Orange eyes darted over to the little bubble tea shop across the street. Much like the AA Centre, the lineup extended all the way out the door and along the side of the polished glass windows. Jamison suddenly realized how much his knees were shaking in that moment. He tugged on Mako’s hand, “Actually, ‘Hog, let’s just sit here for now. Watch the birds. Get some Vitamin D. Maybe grab some drinks later on.”

“You sure?”

He patted the seat beside him, “Positive.”

Mako shrugged and resumed to his spot. “Alright. Want me to quiz you?”

Jamison grinned. “Thought you'd never ask.”

 

Quizzing went relatively well. Signs were easy enough, so Jamison had no problem on that portion, though Mako had to correct him on some of the rules. Jamison hoped that the set of questions he got on the test didn't throw him off. Gods forbid that he didn't pass and had to repay the fee to retake the damn thing. He glanced at his watch once they finished going through the Road Code manual. Two more hours until check in.

Lovely.

Eventually, Mako did decide to head down to the shop across the street. Jamison would've gone with him, really he would’ve, but one look at that ever extending line and people-packed interior had him second guessing.

Living out in the barren Outback made the crowded nature of the cities a real culture shock. Even if they did traverse the world, even if he was quite used to the urban life by now, Jamison still had bouts of nervousness etched into his system. His test anxiety didn't help the situation either.

Mako saw right through him, noticing his partner’s unease, and opted to go on both of their behalfs. He knew just what would cheer Jamison up.

“Know what you're getting already.” Pretty hard to forget when Jamison ordered it almost every damn time. “Stay out of trouble while I'm gone.”

The smaller man let out his kookaburra cackle. He really did love this big bastard. “Make it a large and you have a deal.”

“Deal.”

 

_Mako. You're doin’ this for Mako._

Jamison knew he didn't test well. He was loud, fidgety, and terribly forgetful - all the qualities that most education professionals would scoff at. There were hardly any schools among the Settlements, and there definitely wasn't one back in Junkertown. If there was, he definitely would've been one of the rowdier children. A real menace towards the teacher. The kid who had to sit at the desk in the corner of the classroom because he was deemed too disruptive. He fancied himself a bit of a class clown, too.

No, Junkrat learned the fundamentals by watching, listening, practicing. Watched the other street children hunt lizards and small marsupials until it was his turn for the meal runs. Listened to fireside stories of lush greenery and non-mutated animals from before the collapse of the Core, first told by the older Pack members, then eventually told by Roadhog once they’d grown used to each other. Practiced his bomb-making until it was a consistent part of his arsenal, his life, an everyday occurrence.

Sure, Jamison liked to read the charred remains of any books he found in the scrap yards, but he had never been the type to sit still and scan the words from a page to retain the information. Nor had he ever been subjected to the prospect of test-taking before. The reality of returning to the AA Centre under two hours from now, along with the possibility of _failure_ (Lord knew he was very well acquainted with the dreaded f-word), crawled under his skin.

But Mako believed in him. That should've been enough.

Mako was also growing old. His sensitive eyes were getting worse. That was their reality. It was inevitable.

Jamison wanted to help. He could easily operate a vehicle without a license. But he wanted to drive them around legally (wow, he never thought he'd say that), in their own beaten up car with cracked leather seats and corny hood ornaments, so Mako wouldn't have to do it alone. They would take turns. Split the job. Fifty-fifty.

He wished the big lug would just come back already. He'd lost sight of him in the crowd, behind the glare of the windows, a few minutes ago. It didn't help the pit in his chest, swallowing him whole.

 

A hand waved over his face.

“-Jamison. ‘Rat.”

“Huh?” His phone nearly slipped out of his grip. Mako’s contact information flashed across the screen. An orange prosthetic thumb hovered over the call button.

Speak of the devil. There was Mako, in all his looming, rotund glory. His medical mask was pulled down, exposing the lower portion of his face. A broad nose and full lips. Though the sunglasses stayed on. He sipped on the large mango green tea he got for himself and held out the little baggy containing Jamison’s order. Milk tea, half sweet, of course. He blinked as Mako placed the large drink in his hands and slid up next to him. “Thanks. What was I..?”

“Spaced out again,” Mako said.

“Dammit, ‘Hog. Ya see?!” Jamison slumped over and groaned into Mako’s shoulder, “I'm no good at this stuff. Can't even focus. I'm gonna bomb it, I just know it. And not in the good way.”

Big fingers began carding through his hair and rubbing over his scalp, soothing the worries out of him through a shuddering sigh. “You'll do fine.”

“At least one of us sounds sure,” he mumbled. “Got more faith in your pinky than I do my whole body.” Mako held the back of his neck in a gentle grip. He leaned into the hand. Something in the darkest corner of Jamison’s mind wanted his partner to wring some sense into him, but the touch stayed light, familiar, grounding him to reality.

“You’ll pull through, ‘Rat. You always do.”

“Whatcha mean by that?”

“You work well under pressure,” Mako clarified.

“Do I now?” Jamison tilted his head.

“Trust me,” Mako ran his thumb across a sharp cheekbone. “You do.”

Jamison could only nod. Mako sounded so sure of him. Jamison really didn't know where this confidence in his abilities came from. Surely he'd done some things to impress the older man, to earn his trust, but what those things were specifically, he couldn't recall at the moment. Probably something to do with heists and escapes. Missions and retreats. Distant memories.

But Mako believed in him, believed that he could do this, and that was enough.

With slightly trembling fingers, Jamison stabbed the straw through the top of his drink. The milk tea did wonders to calm him down. He chewed on a tapioca ball and nearly choked when Mako idly rubbed the sides of his neck. He huffed and poked the big guy in the gut. “Tickles, ‘Hog.”

Mako snorted and placed his hand on his knee instead. Jamison slumped a little at the loss of contact, but saw that Mako’s palm was facing up, inviting. Their fingers laced together nicely. The old pig drew circles over the rat’s scars and burn marks.

They could get used to this.

Just a regular old couple at the park, holding hands and sipping bubble tea on a sunny summer day.

 

They stood in the middle of the waiting area, locked in a quick, reassuring embrace amongst the other sitting patrons. Some people couldn't help but gawk at them before quickly looking away in the other direction. It wasn't everyday that they witnessed two ex-criminals here in the suburbs showing such affection. Used to the staring by now, the two men paid them no mind.

“Here we go, big guy. My time has come.” Always the dramatic one. Jamison sensed Mako fondly rolling his eyes from behind the sunglasses and let out a strained laugh. Despite wanting to flake out of this, he tried to make light of the situation. Mako. He was doing this for Mako. “Let’s hope all that quizzing payed off.”

Mako hugged him tighter. “You’ll do great, ‘Rat.”

“I hope so, ‘Hog.”

“Trust me.”

“I do.”

“I'll wait for you right here,” Mako murmured into his shoulder. “Good luck, _toku aroha_.”

My love.

All of Jamison’s attention snapped up to Mako’s face. He grabbed the big lug’s shoulders and looked him dead in the eyes. Really looked at him. Searched behind tinted lenses. In that brief span of time, it was only him and Mako, the people and noises of the centre fading out into muffled static.

He _knew_ that Mako loved him, and Mako knew that Jamison loved him. Even if he rarely ever heard the old pig say it. Jamison had been with Mako long enough to know that he was a man of action. He didn't mind that one bit. He talked enough for the both of them.

Nonetheless, whenever Mako did express his feelings through words, it never failed to make the smaller man’s heart skip a beat or few.

Overwhelmed by his emotions, Jamison leaned up to gently tug the medical mask down, and pressed a soft peck to Mako’s lips for good luck.

Mako believed in him, and that was all he needed.

While he was slightly taken aback by the public display of affection, Mako soon smiled into the kiss and allowed himself to melt in the moment. To enjoy this, just a few more seconds, before he had to let him go. He wrapped his arms around Jamison’s narrow waist and pulled him close.

 

The doors of the AA Centre practically flew open and Jamison set foot outside, whooping and hollering and skipping across the asphalt. Loosening up as all the pent up worries stored in his wiry body went away, he clutched the official-looking paper to his chest and danced down the car park, too wrapped up in his own glee to notice the confusion of passerby. Mako trailed behind him, his heart swelling at the sight, soon falling in step with him as they trekked back to the truck.

Now there was the ‘Rat he knew. Loud, obnoxious, and smiling that crooked smile of his. The big man couldn't help but grin behind the medical mask. The last thing Mako wanted was to burst his partner’s bubble despite all the ruckus. Though the way Jamison gripped the paper in his hands was a cause for concern. He needed to keep the temporary license intact until their actual cards got mailed to the bait and tackle shop. Mako clamped a hand over his shoulder to settle him down. “You did good, ‘Rat.”

“Damn roight I did, ‘Hog!” Jamison beamed up at him. Bright as the sun. “The hell was I gettin’ so worked up over this? Easiest bleedin’ test I've ever done in me life!”

“It's the only test you've ever done.” Mako rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but I aced it!” Jamison moved in for a fist-bump, which Mako eagerly reciprocated. He let out a delighted hoot of laughter before wrapping an arm around Mako’s neck, bringing him close to plant a firm kiss on his cheek. Mako hummed and smoothed down Jamison’s hair. He was glad to have him back.

Jamison pulled away and jogged backwards in the direction of the truck. “Lunch is on you, big guy!”

A quick glance at his watch told Mako that it was almost five. Jamison was a few hours off. The old pig chuckled. 

Fair enough. Even if it was nearly dinner time. A deal was a deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there was a bubble tea shop next to the Drive Test Centre and we celebrated after 5 hours of waiting in line. Also, if I'm gonna be an anxious mess over my tests then gosh darn it so will my faves. 
> 
> Sorry for not replying to comments aaaah I promise I'll get to them once things settle down and I wholeheartedly appreciate every single one. Thank you for sticking with this series despite the lack of updates. Life's been pretty hectic lately, and I'm grateful for the feedback!
> 
> It's almost 5 AM here. I gotta sleep. Thanks for reading, and have a great week!


	5. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mundane mornings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll give you jewelry  
> And money too  
> That ain't all  
> That ain't all I'll do for you  
> Baby, if you bring it to me  
> Bring your sweet lovin'  
> Bring it on home to me 
> 
> -Bring It On Home to Me (Sam Cooke, 1962)
> 
>  
> 
> Happy almost New Year!

Waking up to the sound of small explosions was never a good sign.

Mako was up and out of bed in an instant. Big feet plodded across the creaky wooden paneling, tip-toed over the cool kitchen tiles. Pink curtains slowly drifted in the warm morning breeze. The window facing the detached garage was slightly ajar. He pushed it open the rest of the way and stuck his head out.

“Rat,” Mako’s deep baritone echoed across the way, “You alright?”

The question was met by muffled swearing and the sharp clang of falling metal. “Peachy!” Came the shrill response, “Doin’ just great over here!”

Mako wrinkled his nose. He wasn’t so sure about that. Especially when he heard the smaller man‘s noises of frustration. He surveyed the state of the old building. No smoke seeping through the windows. No holes blasted through the roof. No cobbled together death trap on wheels running rampant down the driveway.

Everything seemed fine.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Just a mishap, Hoggo. I’m aces!”

“...Hm,” Mako rubbed the back of his neck. He knew Jamison could handle himself. But he couldn’t help but worry sometimes. All the time. “How long you been up for?”

“Since six, I think,” Jamison said, muffled by the wall separating them. He always did lose track of himself whenever he worked in there. “Couldn’t fall asleep again. Didn’t mean to wake ya.”

Thick, greying brows knitted together. The gentle touch of calloused fingers along his jaw, the press of chapped lips against his forehead, a familiar lanky figure haloed by the rising sun, wasn’t part of a pleasant dream after all, but of his reality.

A small, fond smile tugged at him.

“You need anything, _ipo_?”

Thoughtful silence.

“A cuppa would be real nice, Hoggie-dearest.”

“You got it.”

“You’re the best, love.”

The coffee maker was left to brew while Mako headed back to their bedroom. His heart and breathing rate gradually slowed down now that he was assured of his partner’s safety. A splash of cold water on his face washed away the last of his gnawing concerns. He shed his pink bathrobe in favour of a more suitable ensemble for yard work, buttoning up a red plaid shirt and pulling on a pair of patchy overalls. A quick glance at the clock on the nightstand told him it was nearing eight. Just in time to mend the pen.

Mako peeled and cut up some apple slices for today’s breakfast. Ate a few before putting the rest away in a shallow bucket for the pigs. He pulled on his dirt-caked rain boots at the kitchen table and was good to go. A wave of warm air washed over him as he stepped out into the rear porch to start the day fresh, bright and early.

Their yard wasn’t the biggest. A suitable size for a household of two, sure, but certainly not enough to sustain the kunekune sow and her five piglets on just grazing alone. For now, they made do with the space and supplies they had. Mako grabbed the bag of low-protein pellets, a bundle of hay, and six plastic bowls. Really kept his arms full as he made his way towards the reinforced pen that took up almost the entirety of their back lawn.

Petunia was cooling off in a small mud puddle, right in the middle of the enclosure, surrounded by overgrown grasses and edible shrubbery that the pair planted a few weeks prior. Mako’s footsteps must’ve startled her, causing the sow to shoot up to her hooves. She shook off the still-wet earth from her brown, speckled fur, splattering her nearby babies in the process. The piglets snorted in surprise, making even more noise when their Mama plodded over to them, who snuffled and nuzzled the kids with her mud-coated snout.

Mako caught the sow’s gaze and tipped his head to her. “Morning, Sweet-Pea.”

She snorted and trotted towards him. Mako smiled and petted her once she got close to the inner fence. Scratched behind her ears and smoothed down her muddy fur. “First meal of the day, _tīaka_. Brought you all your favourites.”

The opening click of the latched gate almost always signaled feeding time. Mako had to watch his step as the piglets squealed in delight and flocked around him, sniffing and huffing to be the first in line, while Petunia went back to wallowing. The old gal was patient. No use in rushing about, especially during such a hot summer's day. She knew there was plenty of food to go around.

A great big hand dove into the bag and put down small fistfuls of pellets into five separate dishes. The babies were rowdy and excitable at every meal, often charging towards the first mound of grub and chowing down. The ones that got the short end of the stick would then go for the next one Mako set up. Eventually, each piglet would settle down at their own pile of assorted food, with the occasional mooching visit from their siblings, while Mako gave Petunia her portion.

This time, Rongo and Olive managed to secure their spots at the first bowl. Emere and Curly broke off from the others once Mako set another pile down. Soon enough, each baby retreated to each their own, with Mako giving them a nice chunk of hay and some apple slices for a treat. He stood up with a grunt and dusted off his knees. _One, two, three_ … he counted under his breath. _Four_ fed piglets in sight.

Wait a minute.

Where-?

A small tug on Mako’s pant cuff immediately set his blood pressure back to normal. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found the littlest pig pawing at his boots.

“Kiri,” Mako bent down and gently nudged her towards the untouched bowl. “Time to eat.”

A stubborn one, she was. From the moment she could walk, Kiri made it her mission to treat Mako like a jungle-gym, first climbing onto his foot, then letting her adorable looks do all the work. The tiny piglet squealed in protest when he picked her up, only to place her back down on solid ground. She just ended up right where she started; standing on his boot, her front hooves scratching him through his pant leg, trying to gain purchase on the patchy denim. Mako chuckled and shook his head. “Okay, okay. I know what you want, _pēpē_.”

Mako carefully scooped her up. Petted and combed through her dark brown fur. She was the runt of the litter. Minuscule in his hand. Could curl up and take a nice, long nap right in the middle of his palm if she wanted to. He nuzzled her, then lowered her again so she could climb into the front pouch of his overalls. She wriggled around until she found a comfortable position. Her nose stuck out from the flap, sniffing the air and snorting happily. Mako smiled. “Let me feed your Mama first. Then we can pay ‘Rat a visit. How’s that sound?”

A content snuffle was Mako's affirmation. He scratched between Kiri’s ears and carried on with the rest of his morning routine with her company. The stubborn little pig did eventually eat the pellets, hay, and apple slices that he’d offer her between tasks. The coffee finished brewing by the time Mako cleaned up and they headed inside, though the piglet had long since fallen asleep in her temporary carrier. Mako hummed and watched the slow rise and fall of her breathing.

No matter, Jamison would still be happy to see her.

The garage itself housed a small disaster zone. Only his wiry partner could safely navigate and discern the mess he’d made whenever a big project was on the works. Mako lifted the door the rest of the way and peered through the low maze of scrap metal, spare car parts, and scattered power tools.

“Jamison.”

A sharp, resonating clang from the back of the room made Mako cringe. A spark, a pop, then a puff of black smoke spread through the cluttered space. Not the worst he’d seen, but shoot. Mako had one hand on the fire extinguisher they kept around, just in case.

“Dammit,” Jamison hissed, emerging from beneath the second rusty vehicle they brought home from the scrap yard, coughing and waving through the cloud that stung his eyes and lungs. “Piece of junk,” he growled, tossing his wrench aside and letting it clatter across the floor. The last time Mako had seen him work on this heap of ancient metal was during the restoration of their first truck, dismantled for all the usefulness it could provide, then brought home in the hopes of getting some more scrap and parts out of it for future works.

Maybe he had a change of heart.

Soon enough, the cloud began to clear up. The younger man’s fuse fizzled out when he caught Mako’s stare. His face, covered in oil and grease from his tinkering, broke out into a toothy grin.

Before he could get a word in, Mako stepped inside and slid the door back down, plunging the room into dimness. He plopped down on one of sturdy crates nearby, canister of coffee in hand, fingers drumming against the splintered wood.

“Explain the explosions,” he said.

“Oh… _That_ ,” Jamison tittered in the way that told Mako he was hiding something. “About that. Was just messin’ around with the ‘security system’, is all.” The nervous wringing of his hands was involuntary; something he did when all that excess energy had nowhere else to go. He was definitely hiding something.

“Didn’t break nothin’,” Jamison mumbled, noticing the slight furrow in Mako’s brows. “Promise.”

Mako sighed. “As long as you’re okay.” He believed Jamison, he really did. Though he also wondered how his companion went from fiddling with his traps to ending up under the truck. Oh well. Questions later, he supposed.

“M’fine, love.” The younger man jumped to his feet and made his way over, expertly avoiding the mess around them, hands reaching out to the canister in Mako’s grasp. “Even better once I get my daily dose.”

Mako wanted to tease him. Only a little. A mild form of payback, if he could even call it that, for the rude awakening this morning. Just as Jamison was about to take the coffee, Mako held it up higher and away from those grease coated fingers.

“Makoooo-“ Jamison huffed. “What gives?”

The big lug merely chuckled and pointed at his cheek.

Jamison crossed his arms, trying to hide his amusement. He could play along, too. “Aw, c’mon. I smooched ya earlier.”

“Was mostly asleep,” Mako said, closing his eyes and jutting his face out to the side. Some seconds passed before he felt long arms wrap around his neck, chapped lips nipping along his jaw, surely smearing some of that oil and grease into his beard. He smiled and met Jamison halfway, turning his head to brush those lips against his own, kissing his partner slow and gentle.

Both men opened their eyes and broke apart when a snuffling snout stuck out from Mako’s front pocket.

“Looks like we woke her,” Mako said. “Sorry, pēpē _.”_

Something soft and wooly swiped across his cheek. Jamison had a spare wash rag in hand and used it to clean themselves up post-tinkering-and-snogging. It always paid to be cautious, especially around the pigs.

“Geez, ‘Hog. Coulda told me there was a lady present.” Jamison tutted and shook his head, though the smile across his face gave him away. He wiped away the last few traces of grime and pressed one more peck to Mako’s nose before turning his attention to the littlest kunekune.

“Hello darl,” Jamison cooed. “Decided to hitch a ride with my _seventh_ -favourite pig, I see.”

Mako snorted and rolled his eyes fondly, while Jamison petted and smoothed down Kiri’s hair. Scratched between her ears and below her chin. Fawned over her in between sips of coffee.

“Let a bloke hold this absolute sweetheart, would ya?”

The big guy nodded. He reached into one of his many pockets and pulled out the soft, white towel he carried around for times like these; when Jamison was finished with the mad-scientist-lab stuff and wanted to go right ahead with the nurturing bit. Mako loosely swaddled the baby and held her out to his eager partner.

“Ta, love. C’mere, little coconut.” Jamison gently lifted the runt from Mako’s hands. She always squealed and wriggled when she was lifted, but she settled down once Jamison got a comfortable hold on her. He cradled Kiri in his arms and nuzzled the top of her head through the towel. “Gosh, ain’t you and your family just the cutest pigs on the block.”

It surprised Mako at first, how careful Jamison could be. The same mismatched hands that he'd seen bruised and bloodied, build weapons and explosives, be the cause of so much chaos and destruction, could also handle children and babies in the most benevolent ways.

Mako scooted over so Jamison could sit, wrapping an arm around his thin waist when he did. The younger man set Kiri down on his lap, content to just let her stretch out and nap for a bit, while he gently ran his flesh hand back and forth along her back. He could feel the way her bristles stood up and smoothed down through the soft blanket. The piglet loved back scratches almost as much as she loved belly rubs. Absolutely precious.

“Guess I missed breakfast,” Jamison said, with a slight hint of disappointment. Feeding the pigs was one of his favourite chores around the flat. Anything related to the pigs, really. Shame that he wasn't there to help out today.

Mako rested his cheek atop blond patchy hair. “Figured you wanted to finish up in here first.” The rusty frame of the disrepaired truck remained in his peripheral. It… needed a lot of elbow grease, to say the least.

Jamison huffed out a long sigh. In that case, he wouldn’t be feeding the pigs for a long, long time. Much too long if he kept this up. “Gotta head out and find some parts tomorrow when we drive over to the Yard. New engine, new battery, wheels, lights, the works.”

Mako hummed in agreement. So that's what had Jamison so fidgety before. That natural inkling to build. “We can make a list over lunch.”

“Well, damn, gave it away, didn't I?” Jamison playfully elbowed his partner’s side. “You got me. Was tryin’ to get that old skeleton to start, but nada. Zilch. Dead as dead could be.”

“Thought you wanted it around for spares.”

“Thought so too,” Jamison shrugged. “But we can’t let this business opportunity go to waste.”  

Mako raised an eyebrow. “Business opportunity.”

“Business opportunity-! Shoot, wait, hold the baby for a bit, Hoggy.” Jamison toned it down to a whisper, carefully handing off the napping piglet to his companion, who tucked her back into his front pocket. He stood up to his full height, free to wildly gesture and pace as he so pleased. “As I was sayin’ - business opportunity, my dearest ‘Hog. Got plans for that truck. Big plans.”

Mako blinked. “What’d you have in mind?”

“Dunno the details yet,” Jamison said sheepishly, still pacing. “But I’m getting there. You’d be surprised how many collectors would pay a hefty price for summa these models. Heck, we’d get a pretty penny for the individual parts, even. No one’s manufactured the likes of our truck for close to half a century. Let alone the other ones we can find and have found in the Yard.” Jamison grinned in a way that Mako hadn’t seen since their heist days. “You and I, lovie, are sittin’ on a potential goldmine.”  

Ah, Mako understood. One of Jamison’s get rich quick schemes. Minus the “quick” part. It took them a week to restore their first truck, sure. But the time spent gathering the needed parts spanned months. Months. For a single project.

“Okay,” Jamison began to slump at Mako’s silence. “Okay, so just… hear me out, yeah? Was thinkin’ of callin’ it ‘ _vintage_ ’ on the ad, we can host the bidding here or at the Yard, doesn’t really matter, then we can rake in the dough, save up, and… and get a bigger space for the pigs.”

Oh.

Now Mako got it.

Still, Jamison kept going.

“Can’t sell the first truck. That’s special. Worked on it together.”

“Dunno if I really wanna move flats. We settled on this place together. It’s got history now.”

“Wanna keep the pigs together. See the kids grow up. They’re a family.”

Together. That's what it was.

“Kinda like the neighbours, too, actually. Plus, the ocean view is nice. Nope, can’t move flats.”

Jamison kept talking, kept pacing. Listed off all the limiting factors working against his plan. Murmured to himself and eventually pretended to look for the wrench he’d tossed earlier. Of all the possible reasons for this scheme, Mako wouldn’t have thought that Jamison was willing to put all this time and effort for the kunekunes, yet here he was. It was… sweet, really. Really, really sweet of him. Damn.

All Mako wanted to do in that moment was to gather the flustered rat into his arms and tell him it’ll all be okay.

And maybe kiss him a little.

“Hey,” Mako trailed after Jamison, stepping over the mess of scattered metal, and gently took a hold of his wrist. “That all you’ve got down so far?”

“Yeah,” Jamison mumbled, reluctantly meeting Mako’s gaze. “I just - I know how much you love them… Don’t wanna have to give them up.”

Strong hands pulled Jamison into a soft hug, careful not to bother the sleeping piglet. Big, warm fingers ran through his hair, calming him, pulling him back to earth. He sighed, melting into the touch and hugging Mako in return, cheeks turning pink at the quiet “I love you” whispered into his burning skin.

Mako loved this man. He really did.

“We’ll figure something out, ipo.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please Blizzard just let the Junkers grow old together. Let these old men rest.


End file.
